


A Hot, Bitter Mess

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bickering, Crack, F/M, Fluff, In which the Doctor and Clara are married, and have a daughter, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 05:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7627663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lily Oswald-Smith is used to her parents and their bickering. Every morning without fail, one of them will find an excuse to berate the other, and the ensuing spat will play out the same way every time. In the case of this morning in particular, the cause for consternation is her mother's coffee maker. The one that her father has recently imbued with sentience, and the power of speech. Predictably, Clara is less than amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hot, Bitter Mess

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was initially inspired by [this Tumblr post](http://cyberparchment.tumblr.com/post/98943079728/in-which-the-tardis-is-actually-the-daughter-that). The talking coffee maker just sort of... happened.

Lily Oswald-Smith was minding her own business in the kitchen, spooning breakfast cereal determinedly into her mouth at a furious rate as she flipped through an old copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ , when the argument erupted around her. As arguments between her parents often did, it came out of nowhere, and it started quite innocuously, with a politely worded question that concealed layers of meaning that she both couldn’t and wouldn’t attempt to discern. 

“Doctor,” her mother said conversationally from her position by the coffee maker, looking over at her husband with the kind of smile that made Lily feel nervous, despite the fact it wasn’t aimed at her. “What did you do to my coffee maker?” 

“ _Your_ coffee maker?” he responded, as innocently as he could manage, arranging his face into a studiously impassive expression. “I thought it was _my_ coffee maker.” 

“My dad gave me this as a wedding present,” Clara hissed through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to scowl. “It was expensive. It made excellent lattes. I just pressed a button and it sneezed a lump of metal into my favourite mug. So I will ask again: what the _hell_ did you do to _my_ coffee maker?”

“Now now,” he warned, holding up his hands and taking half a step backwards as a precaution before continuing: “You know, you really shouldn’t be such an only child about these things. I thought the rules of marriage were ‘what’s yours is also mine.’ Or something. So it’s really _our_ coffee maker.” 

“Do not attempt to get into a fight with me about semantics,” her mother intoned in the kind of tone that challenged him to argue with her. “I don’t give a shit about who owns it. What did you do?” 

“You seemed to care an awful lot a moment ago,” the Doctor noted, and Lily sighed to herself, knowing he was only making matters worse by provoking her mother. “You’re rather confused about this whole affair, aren’t you? Is it yours, or isn’t it? Schrodinger’s coffee machine, it is both yours and not-yours, until the situation is-” 

“Look, this time machine is yours-” 

“Ours,” he corrected mechanically, giving Clara a long look. “ _Our_ time machine.” 

“No,” her mother informed him sternly, holding up a warning finger. “She’s yours. _You_ stole her. She used to hate me, remember? I know she likes me now, but only as long as you like me, and as soon as that stops, I’ll end up getting eaten by a space-leopard… or worse. So she’s definitely yours. What’s _in_ her, on the other hand, is mine.”

“Well _I’m_ not,” he protested, running his hands through his hair. “And-” 

“You didn’t say that last night,” her mother said sweetly, and Lily fought back the urge to gag at the implications of her mother’s words. “You seemed _very_ certain then that you were mine. You were terribly vocal about it.” 

“Possession of others is wrong, Clara,” the Doctor said shakily, casting a glance at his pre-teen daughter, who was turning steadily more maroon with mortification. As he cast his eyes down, he felt his own cheeks begin to burn in synchronicity, half-embarrassed and half-empathetic. “You can’t _own_ other people.” 

“Well, _you_ don’t seem to consider that when you’re calling me ‘Clara, my Clara, oh my Clara,’” Clara said, turning a wide, innocent look on her husband, who only turned a fierier shade of scarlet, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. “Do you?” 

“I…” he stammered, casting around for a change of subject. “That’s… look, the coffee machine is _ours_.” 

“Mine,” Clara reiterated slowly and emphatically. “ _My_ coffee machine. And it’s sneezing. Dirty great lumps of metal.”

“What a technological marvel, eh?” the Doctor enthused, crossing the room to press buttons on the coffee maker and only succeeding in causing it to sneeze another lump of silver at Clara’s feet. “See? A vaguely-sentient coffee maker that produces lumps of metal. What’s not to like?” 

“Vaguely sentient?” Clara asked dangerously, latching onto the new information as Lily eyed the coffee maker warily. The last thing her dad had tinkered with had burned the word “BUM” onto her morning toast, and when challenged only changed its chosen expletive to something so rude it made her mother blush. “You granted sentience to a _coffee maker_?” 

“Maybe,” the Doctor said evasively, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” 

“Doctor…” 

“You’re angry, aren’t you?” the coffee maker asked suddenly in a high, reedy voice, and Clara shrieked, dropping the mug she was holding and leaping backwards in shock. “Now now, don’t overreact, I’m harmless.” 

“Dad?” Lily asked faintly, clutching her spoon tightly in an attempt to retain some normalcy. “Dad, the coffee maker is talking.” 

“Don’t speak to _him_ ,” it said imperiously, in a way that reminded her just slightly of her father. “I can think for myself you know.” 

“About what?” Lily asked incredulously, eyeing it as she spoke. “You’re a coffee maker, what do you have strong opinions on?” 

“Lattes,” it informed her snootily. “The coffee-milk ratio in cappuccinos. The temperature of the perfect hot chocolate. Plus, I greatly like the short human. The short human cleans my milk frother. The tall gangly one does not do such things for me.” 

“Well now, doesn’t that sound like the kind of euphemism that just sums up our sex life?” Clara smirked, and the Doctor turned a violent shade of crimson again as Lily groaned loudly. 

“Muuuuum,” she protested, burying her face in her hands to avoid looking at either parent. “That’s gross, don’t talk about sex to the coffee maker. Or me. Or ever. In fact, just don’t _have_ sex. Please. It’s really, really _ew_.” 

 “How do you think we got you?” Clara asked playfully, and Lily made a face of disgust. “Sorry. Look. Go to your room, you shouldn’t hear this.” 

“Hear what?” Lily asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at her mother. “Oh god, you’re not gonna angry-shag dad in front of the sentient coffee maker, are you? Please don’t angry-shag dad in front of the coffee maker.” 

“I sincerely hope she is not,” the coffee machine observed with a hint of worry, and she bit back a giggle. 

“Lily,” her father said measuredly. “ _Don’t_ go to your room. Stay here, you need to tell your mother I’m right this time.” 

“No, go to your room,” Clara instructed, scowling at her husband and his refusal to acquiesce to her wishes. “I’m your mother.” 

“Oh, well I’m her father, you didn’t make her alone, did you, Clara?” 

“We are _not_ having this talk in front of her!” Clara hissed, Lily’s eyes flicking between her parents as they bickered. She felt a growing sense of boredom at the whole affair, eager only to finish her cereals and leave the adults to their arguing. 

“Oh, we are if I say we are. Lily, do you want to know how you were conceived?” 

“ _Doctor!_ ” 

“Dad…” Lily muttered, unsure that she really wanted to hear the story. “Can we… do we have to…” 

“Your mother,” he said loudly, ignoring both his wife and daughter. “Was really rather _determined_ one evening…” 

“DAD,” Lily pleaded, clamping her hands over her ears ineffectually and wishing fervently for death. “I don’t – need – to – know – about – your – sex – life.” 

“Well, Doctor,” Clara hissed, ignoring their daughter in favour of giving him a black look. “If we’re really going into how _determined_ I was, why don’t we discuss how _certain_ you were?” she adopted a Scottish lilt. “’Oh Clara, you really don’t have to worry about silly things like those little pills you take, we’re not even biologically compatible.’ Yeah, that went well, didn’t it?” 

“I am…” the Doctor hesitated for a moment, unwilling to admit he had been wrong. “Biologically mutable, apparently.” 

“I wish _you_ were bloody mutable,” Lily muttered under her breath, but both her parents continued to ignore her, caught up as they were in rowing with each other. 

“You were wrong, admit it,” Clara accused, jabbing a finger at the Doctor’s chest. “You were wrong and then I was pregnant and you were running around the TARDIS like a headless chicken.” 

“Do I have to listen to-” Lily began, before realising that no one was paying her any heed. She sank back into her chair in defeat, knowing she’d never get away with sneaking out of the kitchen, and instead picked up her book to try and distract herself. 

“Well, it takes two to tango!” her father accused. “You’re the control freak, aren’t you? Control your… uterus.” 

“Oh yeah,” Clara retorted sarcastically. “ _That’s_ a thing I can do. Oh wait. You’re the physiologically superior alien, that’s what you keep telling us... can’t you make non-viable sperm?” 

“OH MY GOD, GUYS,” Lily exclaimed, giving up on trying to return to _Pride and Prejudice_. “Please god no. Can you just… not do that, please? I don’t want to think about it. Also you ended up having me and I am a ray of light in your otherwise dark and meaningless world. Or something. Let’s leave it there. You were arguing about the coffee maker. Get back to that, thanks.” 

“Ah yes,” Clara remembered, grateful for her daughter setting them back on track. “The coffee maker.” 

“The coffee maker,” it told them nervously. “Is quite enjoying being sentient. Please don’t change me back.” 

“Oh, for the love of…” Clara muttered under her breath. “What did you _do_ to it?” 

“He resonated my molecules!” it chirped brightly. “I was most surprised. I thought he was going to clean my spout. But instead he resonated my molecules.” 

“Resonated… your… molecules?” Clara reiterated, wrinkling her nose distastefully. “Why does that sound dirty? Lily, tell me that sounds dirty.” 

“It does sound faintly… weird.” 

“I mean, your father resonates my molecules, but that’s… well, let’s not go into that.” 

“ _Mum_ ,” Lily said in disgust, shuddering at her mother’s words. “I don’t want to think about it. Stop insinuating that dad stuck his… thing into the coffee maker.” 

“I did!” protested the Doctor, grasping the wrong end of the stick and failing to comprehend the twin looks of horror on his wife and daughter’s faces. “That’s how I… what?” 

“You…” Clara paused, trying to block out the mental image. “You stuck your dick into the coffee maker and imbued it with sentience?” 

He turned a fiery shade of red as he realised the misunderstanding. “No!” he spluttered, looking reassuredly aghast at the suggestion. “No, no, no, nothing of the sort, I used the _sonic_ to resonate the molecules and then sort of… politely suggested that they could maybe make better tea.” 

“Dad, it’s a coffee maker,” Lily reminded him. “It doesn’t _make_ tea.” 

“Which is exactly the _problem_ ,” he complained, sighing deeply. “Because your mother banned me from drinking coffee-” 

“After you had three cups in Starbucks, and I had to come and get you from a police cell because you’d broken into the University of Cambridge to tell Stephen Hawking that he’d stolen your ideas. Yes. I recall.” Clara rolled her eyes at her husband. “Never again.” 

“…anyway, I just sort of _suggested_ it could make tea, and then it asked me to clean its spout, and… well, look, it’s a sentient coffee maker. Accept it and move on.” 

“Dad, we do own a kettle, you know,” Lily informed him patiently, giving him a pitying look. “You know, for making tea.” 

“I know,” he concurred with exasperation. “But that’s… you know, that’s effort.” 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Clara groaned. “So the man who saved three planets last week thinks making a cup of tea is too much effort. Why did I marry you? Honestly, legitimately, why?” 

“You ask me that about eight times a day,” the Doctor pouted slightly as he looked down at his wife, trying his best to look offended but falling somewhat short. “Yesterday, you asked me _eleven_ times.” 

“That was because yesterday you decided to adjust the washing machine, and it literally ate two of my bras. Nice ones. Lacy ones that made my boobs look good.” 

“Your boobs always look good,” he mumbled, looking down at the floor to avoid meeting her gaze. “But sorry. I’m not sorry about the coffee maker though.” 

“Why?” Clara asked him, feeling her patience waning rapidly. “It was _mine,_ you can’t just give sentience to things I own! Not without my permission!” 

“Well I wasn’t to know it was going to do that, was I?” he almost shouted back, turning to face Clara with a face like thunder. “I was just trying to make a decent cup of tea, and then I accidentally did a maybe-nice thing, and now you’re all cross with me again. It’s exhausting, I can’t keep up with you! You humans have too many emotions!” 

“ _Us humans_?” Clara asked, her voice becoming abruptly quiet as she glared at her husband. “Don’t you dare lump me in with the rest of the silly little humans you so enjoy saving. Don’t you _dare._ Don’t you dare extend that to your daughter, either.” 

“But she’s not…” 

“Oh, I know she’s half you. But if we’re taking potshots at each other’s species, being Gallifreyan isn’t great, is it? All that genocide, not to mention the superiority complexes.” 

“ _Mum_ ,” Lily said plaintively, sighing as she tried to intervene. “Dad. Knock it off.” 

“You stay out of this,” Clara snarled, turning to scowl briefly at her daughter before returning her attention to the Doctor. “Go on, say something. I dare you. Tell me what a silly little human I am for not wanting imbued sentience in my kitchen appliances.” 

“Oh, you want me to shout at you, do you? You want me to tell you what a bad person you are, what a selfish brat you’re being for tinkering with something that was fair game? Is that what you want me to do, Clara?” 

“Yes!” she paused, mulling over the idea in her head. “No. Maybe. I don’t know, OK?” 

“No, you don’t know,” he agreed. “So you need to stop throwing your toys out of the pram, because-”

“Will you two just snog and make up already?” Lily asked wearily, leaning forward until her head met the table as she spoke. “Every morning, every single _bloody_ morning, you bicker about something. And mostly it’s cute. But this is getting boring, and I want to go and study, and I can’t leave the kitchen until you’ve stopped being scathing about my biology and using me as a weapon in your rows. So kindly pack it in.” 

Both of her parents paused in their quarrelling to stare at her with surprise. “We don’t bicker that much,” her mother countered. “But we’re sorry.” 

“Yes we do,” the Doctor quipped, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist and kissing her hair a little self-consciously, winking at his daughter as he spoke. “Don’t we, Lils?” 

“Yep,” she said with a grin, watching her mother frown in consternation, missing the joke. 

“We do not.” 

“Do.” 

“Do not – _oh,”_ she laughed lightly as she understood, twisting away from the Doctor and clearing the table. “Right. Point taken. Well, Lils, you definitely get that cool head from me.” 

“Hey!” the Doctor protested, holding out an arm to their daughter, who stepped into his embrace gratefully. “We’re both pretty hot-tempered, let’s be honest.”

“And you’re both super inappropriate with all the flirting with each other,” Lily observed, wrinkling her nose as she hugged her father. “God you’re so in love. It’s actually quite gross.” 

“Thanks,” her mum said, understanding the compliment behind the insult. “Hiding your true feelings behind complaints. Very Time Lord.” 

“Criticising others. Very human,” the Doctor shot back, earning him a scowl. 

“Bickering again,” Lily interrupted, giving each of them a pointed look. “Very _annoying_.” 

“Sorry,” Clara mumbled contritely, hanging her head a little as she moved to stand beside her husband. “He brings out the worst in me.” 

“And the best,” the Doctor added, nuzzling into his wife’s neck with a grin. “Sometimes.” 

“Look, if I attempt to wrangle the coffee maker and make you hot drinks, will you stop being so gross and affectionate?” Lily asked hopefully, and her parents pretended to contemplate the issue. 

“I guess we could maybe consider it,” Clara acquiesced after a moment of faux-deep thought. “But you’ve got to combat the sneezing thing first.” 

“I would not sneeze upon the lovely young human,” the coffee maker squeaked enthusiastically, startling the three of them. “For her, I will make only the finest drinks. For she cleans my spout _and_ empties my compartments.” 

“OK,” Lily muttered, shoving a mug under the nozzle. “We’ve averted a crisis, coffee machine. Let’s not get weird, eh?”


End file.
